


the tall kid

by orphan_account



Category: SPN, Supernatural
Genre: Cute, F/M, Fluff, Jess - Freeform, Jess x sam - Freeform, Love, Romance, SPN - Freeform, Ship, Stanford Sam, otp, sammy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 19:44:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5177384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>sam and jess, the origin story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the tall kid

I met Sam first in the park, where I lay across the bench, my knees bent and the arm rest digging into my spine. Brady sat below me, his ass soaked in morning dew and his glasses askew atop the bridge of his nose. Sam walked by, and he was tall and his hair was curly and thick and his back was arched as if he was trying to hide and Brady looked up and grinned. 

"Hey! Sam!" Brady called, and he turned. His face was sharp, pointed, young but aged beyond his years as if he'd seen things no one should ever have to. Brady flexed his finger, and he limped over to us- an injury in his right leg, I could tell- and gave us both a nervous smile. He sat careful, slow, leaning forward on his haunches as if prepared to flee. "Sam, this is Jess. Jess, Sam." Brady pointed to Sam and added. "Kid's a genius. Might be a tad satanic, though."

 

"I told you," Sam muttered. His eyes moved fast, darted from the sky to my face where it lingered then to the grass where he twirled his fingers and plucked away at the dead stems. "That was for art club."

 

"Art club?" I asked. "The one here? At Stanford?"

 

Sam fixed his gaze on me. He seemed to be reading me- he stopped moving his hands and squinted up as if I was light and it was only when I grew uncomfortable and shifted in my seat that he looked away. "No. I took an art club in high school. I liked the symbol they told me to draw, so I drew it again. It's not... it's not satanic."

"Sure looked Satanic to me." Brady said, but he was grinning. He nudged Sam's leg. "Ah, relax a little, you satanic nerd boy."

I remember, Sam, he wore a gray Kansas tshirt and a brown hoodie, both of which too small. His legs were long and he'd donned them in skinny jeans. I tapped a pencil against my thigh, gave him a smile and said, "Nice shirt. You from Kansas?"

He looked down at it and his eyes widened with some sort of surprise. "I guess. I mean, kind of. I was born there, but I only lived there for six months."

"And in those six months you bought a t-shirt?" Brady quipped.

Sam let out a puff of air. "Nah. It's my dad's. It must've gotten mixed up in my stuff." He seemed to be relaxing- he fell back off his haunches and didn't look about so much.

"So," I asked, because nobody said a thing. "How do you two know each other?"

"He's in one of my classes." Brady said. "I saw him from across the room. It was love at first sight."

Sam grimaced. "You're an ass." He looked to me. "I actually couldn't stand him at first."

Brady put his arm around Sam, who shoved him off. "But then he fell for me."

"I repeat, you're an ass."

I smiled, pulled my notebook to my chest. "Don't worry, Sammy. I think you guys are adorable together."

Sam flinched, a little, then took a breath and rolled his eyes. "We're not- okay, you know what, I can just leave."

"Don't be a pussy." Brady teased.

Sam laughed and said something back, something I couldn't hear. I checked my phone and saw it was getting late, so I  shoved my stuff into my bag and said, "I gots to go. Studying to be done."

"We are studying!" Brady exclaimed.

"No, you two are flirting." I remarked, and Sam sighed. His lips curled up into a smile, and for a moment I couldn't help but stare. Something about him was intriguing, something about the way he held himself and the way he talked, always on the defense, it seemed.

I ruffled his hair as I walked by, absentmindedly. Brady yelled after me. "Don't mess with his hair! It's like a Picasso!"

I grinned, but didn't turn. I dreamed of Sam that night, of him grinning, dimples digging holes into his cheeks and roses in his hands, held out to me. He didn't look nervous, anymore.


End file.
